


My Tomorrow is Blue

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Blue-themed, Companionable Snark, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, First Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, Flirty Lee Minho | Lee Know, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by mama Jisung’s blue hair n contacts n eyeliner, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Libraries, Lollipops, M/M, Phone filters as a plot device, Pining, Seo Changbin is a Good Friend, Teasing, This is so hard to tag ugh, Weird flirting, Yeah there’s a bush shaped like a squirrel in this, also it’s my 69th fic overall....Nice, best friends!MinBin, blue haired!Jisung, cheek kissing, i use ‘fucking’ so many times oh my god, inspired by the fruit filters minsung use irl, jisung dresses like an e-boy, minsung are ultra cuties, rated t for cursing, title from our Queen blueprint, we love bluesung in this house, written to ‘love me harder’ by woodz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: Minho started with the first ice breaker to come to mind. “Hey there. You like filters?”The boy, who didn’t even flinch at Minho’s arrival to his table, blinked down at his phone. His eyes slunk off the screen, and Minho felt all the air rush from his lungs as he soaked in those blue contacts, and that smudge of blue liner, and his feathery fringe of navy blue locks. Blue within blue within blue.“Filters?”Minho nodded, suddenly smiling. He slipped his phone from his pants pocket, and brandished it as if it’s something contraband. “Yeah, like phone filters? ‘Cause I got one on an app that can makebothof us look like pineapples.”Or: Minho and Jisung fall for each other thanks to fruity filters, blue raspberry lollipops, and a mysterious message written in sharpie on the inside of Minho’s arm.Who knew phone filters could be so romantic? (Minho. Minho knew)
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know & Seo Changbin
Comments: 55
Kudos: 442





	My Tomorrow is Blue

Minho took a bite of his cafeteria-breakfast-spread croissant, and fought through the urge to hurl. 

__

The damn thing tastes like _cardboard_. An absolute insult to french pastries all around the fucking world, if you ask Minho.

__

Everything always feels so weird during certain specific times on campus. One such time is right now, smack dab in the middle of 9 a.m. on a Thursday in the dining hall. The harsh artificial lights make everything look fake. Makes the plastic saran wrap on the premade “pastries” appear as children's toys from a startlingly realistic play-kitchen set. Hell, the _food_ tastes fake, like a sprinkling of sugar on a stack of bound paper. Everyone looks tired and appropriately world weary, slouching in their cheap ass seats at their cheap ass tables while munching on their cheap ass breakfasts.

__

9 a.m. in a college cafeteria feels like a parallel universe. Like something that simply _shouldn’t_ exist, for the benefit of all parties involved. It’s like something from a fucking _creepypasta_ . Minho _swore_ he saw Mothman out of the corner of his eye that one time, by the taco station. 

__

There's barely anyone here today; Changbin and Minho sit at their usual table, right in the center of the room, with a few groups dotting the periphery. It's eerily quiet for such a large room on such a large college campus. 

__

Minho took a noisy slurp of his chocolate milk, just to break up the white-noise monotony. 

__

Everything is so static. Plastic forks move as if in slow motion. Trays are stuffed full of cereal and scrambled eggs with the speed of a hearty pour of maple syrup. Appropriate for breakfast time, at least. 

__

Changbin had just nibbled off a bit of his lemon-poppyseed muffin, when Minho perked to frenzied attention in his seat. 

__

The automatic doors to the cafeteria slid open, as they are wont to do. Someone walked in.

__

Not _just_ someone, on second thought.

__

Minho blinked away whatever bleariness was clouding his eyes, so he doesn't miss a fucking _second._ His empty carton of chocolate milk slipped from his lax fingers, clattering to the table and sending residual drops of choco goodness flying out the straw.

__

Changbin hasn't even noticed the reason for Minho's visceral reaction yet. He's now turned his attention to his bottle of orange juice. 

__

The figure, the catalyst for Minho's goddamn _heart eyes,_ walked past them. Well...not past _them,_ but... _past_ them. Past them adjacent. He walked through their general vicinity, which was good enough to get Minho's heart thumping away in his chest. 

__

Minho sighed, wistfully, and propped his chin on a fist. “There he goes. My e-boy boyfriend who spits in my mouth.” 

__

Changbin choked on his sip of orange juice. _Now_ he’s paying much needed attention. “ _Excuse_ me?” he sputtered, “You've literally never even _talked_ to the guy!” 

__

It's the first thing he's said in a while. His voice is slightly rasping from a combination of early morning disuse and acidic orange juice down the wrong pipe. 

__

Minho hummed, eyes still trailing that telltale figure as he slips through the door connecting the canteen with the library. Box-dyed blue hair, faint blue eyeliner, and deep blue contacts. Blue on blue on blue. Minho almost started drooling. 

__

Changbin has a point. He _has_ never spoken to him before, even after all these months of unabashed ogling. Minho’s been crushing on that boy since the first moment he saw him—a couple months ago, when Minho passed him in a random hall in the music building. His hair was light strawberry blonde then, not the smoky blue he’s sported for the last few weeks. His eyes were rich chestnut brown to match, a color Minho assumed were his natural irises. He was gazing down at his phone, a puffy daisy sticker on the case under his fingerpads. He didn't even _see_ Minho. 

__

But that didn’t stop him from falling head over heels _instantly,_ at first sight of those rounded cheeks and thin lips and large, sparkling eyes. Minho was never one to believe in love at first sight, but that day _converted him._

__

Minho has seen the now blue-haired boy a fair share of times around campus since, but the time has never been _right_ to make a move.

__

There’s always been too many people keeping them forcefully separated. Too many imminent classes bearing down on Minho and keeping him shy. Too many butterflies in Minho’s stomach, a swarm, an infestation. But if the cafeteria is a ghost town at this hour, Minho _knows_ the library will be the same. There’s nothing keeping them apart this time around. The time is fucking _right,_ and Minho can feel it pulsing in his bones. He can feel it in the _air,_ like each particle of oxygen is telling him to _go._

__

Minho suddenly has an idea. “Maybe I should change that.” 

__

Without another word, he popped from his chair. The abrupt movement sent the metal legs scrapping noisily against the floor, startlingly a trio of students a few tables over. 

__

“Minho? Where are you _going?”_ He heard Changbin, as he turned on his heel. He’s facing the door to the library. It’s still swinging on its hinges, from the boy pushing through a few seconds prior. 

__

He turned back to Changbin, and pointed at said connecting door. “That boy is like _Bigfoot_ to me, Bin. I see him once in a fucking blue moon—no pun intended—and I _never_ have the chance to talk to him. Now that I have a prime-as-hell opportunity, I’m _not_ letting my hot Bigfoot go _again.”_

__

Changbin looks horribly, horribly confused. His brows scrunched, as he placed his bottle of half-drunk orange juice back on the table. “ _Hot Bigfoot?”_ He whispered under his breath, before getting himself back on track. 

__

“But we have our anthro lecture in,” Changbin tapped his phone screen on, and checked the time. “ _Forty minutes._ You can’t miss another class, or—”

__

Changbin’s (very reasonable) argument is cut short, at the sight of Minho holding up his pointer finger. “One, I hate that class.” He said, evenly. Minho put up his middle finger now, alongside his pointer. “Two, I’m already about to fail, so might as well just make some magic happen,” 

__

He raised his ring finger, finally. “And _three;_ hot Bigfoot, Changbin. _Hot. Bigfoot._ I can’t just _not_ try and finally talk to him now! What if we’re _soulmates,_ Bin? _Soulmates!”_

__

Changbin seems wholly unconvinced, that much is for sure. But with a loud, drawn out sigh, Minho knows his friend has accepted it. Resignedly accepted it, but acceptance nonetheless. 

__

_“Fine.”_ Changbin grumbled, and took an angry bite of his muffin. “I’ll take notes for you _again._ Go talk to your e-boy-Sasquatch soulmate, or whatever.” He absentmindedly waved his muffin-clutching fist at Minho, getting crumbs absolutely _everywhere._

__

“Actually?” Changbin amended, “On second thought, please _never_ put the words _‘hot’_ and _‘Bigfoot’_ together again. Thanks. _”_ Each word is audibly lumpy from the muffin stuffed in his cheeks, but Minho can tell by the quirk of Changbin’s scowl that he’s faking it. Laying it on thick. He’s not _actually_ mad. 

__

Minho sent his best friend a genuinely grateful smile, and turned back on his heels. Changbin plays the part of the disgruntled, nonplussed, apathetic college kid well, but Minho _knows_ him. He knows that beneath the clench of his defined jaw and the unimpressed glower in his eyes that he’s secretly cheering his best friend on. To the best of his capabilities, of course. 

__

The library door is _right_ before him, and he walked towards it once, twice, three times. He was about to throw it open, when he heard Changbin call for him _again._

__

“Wait!” Minho sent Changbin an expectant stare over his shoulder. His friend cautiously gestured at the empty box of choco milk and Minho’s barely-eaten croissant, as if it’ll chomp down on his hand. Like it’ll have _him_ for breakfast. “What about your stuff?” 

__

Minho smirked. “You can have it. Happy early birthday, Binnie.” 

__

He pushed through the door, giggling into a fist, right as Changbin began to squawk in dismay. 

_**  
  
  
  
  
**_

The library is a goddamn labyrinth of dewey-decimal perfection.

__

An infuriatingly well-organized maze straight from Alice in Wonderland, save for the replacement of trimmed hedges with metal shelving chocked full of yellowing paper, textbooks and novels. 

__

Minho was lost as soon as he stepped foot into the adjoining building. 

__

_Fuck,_ he thought, stomach pinching. _How will I find him?_

__

The shelves are never ending, twisting and topsy turvy and jutting out at seemingly random angles. Minho sent the fluorescent lights above a prayer, and set out down the first aisle to catch his eyes. 

__

He trudged through the fiction section. Hung a right at the non-fiction novels, then padded past the shelves dedicated to paleontology textbooks. The colors are muddy reds and faded browns, and Minho’s vision is starting to go wonky from it all. The carpet is nubby and painfully beige, like the walls. He feels like he's living in a goddamn newspaper, from the sudden and all encompassing influx of sepia tone. 

__

But then, he quite literally stumbled across a space between the towering shelving. A large four-person table sits in the emptiness, three chairs pushed under the face. One is occupied. 

__

Minho’s vision is greeted by a shock of artificial blue, and his heart began to race. He blinked away the greys and browns, savoring each strand of navy to greet him. 

__

The boy is sitting at the table, back to Minho, idly scrolling through his phone. His legs are bent at the _weirdest_ fucking angle under his chair, with his knees buckling inwards to touch, his combat boots awkwardly pigeoned to match. The scuffed toes are kissing, just like his knobby knees. God. His legs are so goddamn _thin._ Twiggy as all hell, but in a _hot_ kinda way. Yeah. Definitely in a sexy-twiggy kinda way. 

__

How _whipped_ is Minho, exactly, that even the boy’s skinny jean-clad _legs_ are causing his palms to go sweaty?

__

Very. The answer is _very._

__

Not wanting to waste another second after spending so much time _finding_ the boy through the maze of books, Minho trotted over and silently pulled out a seat of his own. The one _directly_ adjacent to the blue-haired boy.

__

As he expected, the kid is a hot topic fucking _fever dream._ His ultra-skinny jeans are black, and lightly acid washed. His Doc Martens are well-worn, well-loved, the unmistakable yellow stitching dyed muddled brown from grime. Even though the weather is tepid, he’s wearing a long sleeved red and black striped shirt under his black oversized tee. 

__

All those missed opportunities, all those flubbed chances to make a connection have led up to this very moment. Well, it’s now or never….

__

Minho started with the first ice breaker to come to mind. “Hey there. You like filters?”

__

The boy, who didn’t even flinch at Minho’s arrival to his table, blinked down at his phone. His eyes slunk off the screen, and the richness of his blue contacts all but punched Minho in the _gut._ He felt all the air rush out his lungs as he soaked in those blue eyes, and that smudge of blue liner, and his feathery fringe of navy blue locks. 

__

Blue within blue within blue. 

__

“ _Filters?”_ The boy parroted, and _fuck,_ is his voice nice. Super nice. _Really_ nice. Minho’s body feels like its own source of energy, after hearing that voice. Each atom, each cell an individual lightning rod, a biological conduit spurring him on. He felt electricity course through his veins, as he met the boy’s ultramarine eyes. 

__

Minho nodded, suddenly smiling. He slipped his phone from his pants pocket, and brandished it as if it’s something contraband. “Yeah, like phone filters? ‘Cause I got one on an app that can make _both_ of us look like pineapples.” 

__

The boy, to his immense credit, played along almost instantly. He shook his head, feigning amazement. Blue hair was sent aflurry, and it appeared as if the crashing of an ocean wave across his forehead. 

__

“Damn,” he said, and now _he’s_ smiling. It’s small, almost purposefully contained, but still visibly heart shaped. Still dipping all pretty at his cupid’s bow, before sharpening back out at the corners. Even after just seeing that demure grin for the first time, Minho can say with confidence that it’s the most beautiful he’s ever witnessed. 

__

“That’s pretty sick, but,” he brought up a hand to his mop of sapphire hair, and carded fingers through the strands. “I’m more of a blueberry fan, myself.” 

__

Minho laughed, a sharp exhale through his nose. “Never would have guessed. Best I got is one that puts blue cartoon dolphins on your cheeks.” 

__

The boy continued to play along, to which Minho can only _pray_ is a good sign. He stroked brooding fingers along his chin, and pursed his lips. Minho tried not to let the sight of them, how they shine with gloss under the harsh library lights, put him in a trance. 

__

“That’s a real shame.” The boy mused, his smile gradually tugging back onto his lips. “I was _really_ looking forward to being a humanoid blueberry in a picture with a guy who I don’t know.” 

__

Minho flattened his mouth into a line, and hardened his eyes to match. Mock-offense at its finest. “Hey!” He whined, tone exaggerated like his pout. “You didn’t know me, like,” he checked his watch, “ _Two minutes ago,_ but you _totally_ know me now.” 

__

The blue-haired boy’s smile eased. Became more genuine, and less for show. His blue contacts seemed to sparkle in the highlights of the library, as he said, “I guess that’s true. And who might you be, exactly?” 

__

Minho probably should have stopped, and thought critically about this. About how to answer in the most normal, not-weird way possible. He _probably_ should have, but he very much _didn’t._

__

“Why, I’m your future boyfriend, Lee Minho. _Duh.”_

__

So much for the whole “ _don’t come off too strong”_ vibe Minho was going for. 

__

The boy nodded sagely, softly shutting his eyes as if in serious contemplation. His faded blue liner shimmered with metallic flecks, blended beautifully along his lashlines. He opened his eyes again, and they are significantly brighter than before. “ _Oh,_ so you’ve been flirting with me this whole time? Is that what that was, Lee Minho?” 

__

His tone is light and easy, almost bubbly. Like a refreshing swig of grape soda down your throat on a hot, hot summer day. Actually? More like _blueberry_ soda, now that Minho thinks about it. Minho’s name sounded as the auditory representation of a candy heart melting on your tongue, when the boy said it. 

__

Minho threw a faux-scandalized hand to his chest, “ _Wow,_ that hurt. Are phone filters _not_ the most romantic thing you could think of at a moment’s notice?” 

__

The boy raised his brows, as he gazed at Minho through hooded eyes. His stare is largely unreadable, yet still curious. Interested. He shrugged, a light tug at his shoulders. “Now that I think about it, they _are_ pretty fucking hot.” He teased, fanning himself with splayed fingers. 

__

There are chunky silver and gold rings nestled onto said fingers, sitting right past his knuckles. Minho felt his eyes subconsciously following their glimmer, like a stupid cat after a stupid laser pointer. 

__

He’s so fucking _whipped._ He wants to hold those hands, and play with those rings. 

__

Minho eventually spurred himself back to reality. “Glad you could see it my way,” 

__

“Jisung.” The boy supplied, without hesitation. “Han Jisung.” 

__

“Jisung.” Minho repeated, simply because he wanted to place that name on his tongue. It felt like a homecoming, as he said it. Tasted like blueberries. 

__

Or maybe Minho is just falling in love with Han Jisung. Maybe he's already _in_ love with Han Jisung.

__

No matter, the name is a _much_ preferred substitute for _“Hot Bigfoot”._ In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll need to use such a….very _on-Minho-brand_ moniker for the boy of his dreams anymore. He’s _more_ than happy to call him just plain, simple _Jisung_ from now on. 

__

Minho can only assume Changbin will be overjoyed at this specific turn of events. 

__

But it was at this moment that Jisung caught sight of the time, on a double-sided wall clock hung a few aisles over. He frowned, and Minho felt an invisible ice block slide down his shirt. 

__

“I'd love to stay and chat, but,” Jisung looked exceedingly, _genuinely_ apologetic, “I have a class in fifteen on the other side of campus.” His brows pinched in the center as he said it. His blue eyes darkened a bit.

__

Minho made sure his severe disappointment is kept off his face and out his voice when he replies. “That's cool,” he lied through his teeth. “I understand.” 

__

Jisung sent him a soft smile, bunching the plush apples of his cheeks. Minho mentally signed his will. He's a _goner._

__

Jisung made move to push out from his seat, before his eyes widened in realization. He quickly looked to the clock, then to Minho, then to the clock, and back again. “Quick,” he motioned, somewhat frantically, “Give me your wrist.” 

__

Minho cocked his head in confusion. “My _wrist?”_ He's not following, but he rolled up his sleeve and stuck out his forearm nonetheless. 

__

Jisung quickly fished a sharpie from the back pocket of his second-skin-tight jeans. He uncapped it, as he grabbed Minho's wrist. Gently, yet with purpose. His fingers wrapped around the width of his flesh as if second nature, holding his canvas steady. Minho has goosebumps, as he focuses on the feeling of Jisung's fingerpads against his skin. Jisung leaned over the table face, bent at the waist, and got to work.

__

Minho giggled, at the tingly sensation of the marker’s felt tip flying across his skin. He conveniently missed how Jisung’s smile widened, too. 

__

Seconds later Jisung re-capped the pen, and stuffed it back in his pocket. He scooped up his bag, once satisfied with his handiwork, and slid out from his chair.

__

“I'll see you ‘round, Minho. Or should I say,” 

__

Jisung sent Minho a two-finger salute. “I'll see you, future boyfriend.” He winked, smirked, and then casually sauntered down the closest aisle as if he _didn't_ just make Minho's heart fucking _stop._

__

Minho, never one at a loss for words, is at a _loss for words._ He squeaked, eloquently, as he watched Jisung slip through the library, and towards the exit. 

__

He blinked, and became aware of the words penned onto the inner-skin of his forearm. Written horizontally, beginning right at his wrist and ending just below the divot of his elbow. 

__

Minho looked down. 

__

**_Tomorrow, 7 pm, Squirrel Bush_ **

__

A tiny blueberry is drawn next to an equally cartoonish pineapple below the message.

__

He expected a phone number. A string of easy to read digits that he can plug into his own phone in a few seconds. Not a fucking _riddle_ Minho can’t make heads or goddamn tails of. 

__

“Squirrel Bush?” Minho whispered, baffled. 

__

Minho unconsciously stole a glance at his watch; despite his meeting with Jisung, he has five whole minutes left to make it to his anthro lecture. 

__

Minho slumped in his seat. His head tipped back, staring dejectedly at the ceiling lights until his vision began to go sickly green from prolonged exposure. He blinked again, and images of winking blue eyes flashed within the darkness. 

__

He doesn't feel like going to class. He doesn't feel like moving for a _good_ while. 

__

What the _fuck_ is a squirrel bush? 

_**  
  
**_

🫐🍍

_**  
  
  
  
**_

Minho smacked his forehead onto his desk, as Changbin squinted at his forearm. It made his brain hurt even more than it did before.

__

_“Squirrel Bush?”_ Read Changbin, and Minho can _hear_ the scrunch of his brows, despite his own eyes focused on nothing but the faux wood grain of his dorm desk. 

__

Minho groaned. “Don't even _remind_ me. Also, ow.” He rose up again, pouty and rubbing at the angry red mark now on his temple. 

__

Minho turned to Changbin, plaintively. He pursed his lips as he whined, “What does it _mean,_ Bin?! The boy of my _dreams_ asked me out for _tomorrow,_ and I don't even know where the fuck to go!”

__

Changbin sat back in his seat, uncrossing his legs as his body went slack. “Hell, it beats me.” He threw his hands up, defeated. Minho feels like screaming, crying, and then screaming again. 

__

What is his _luck?_ The guy he's been crushing on for _months_ wants to meet up after their first real introduction, but Minho can't even fucking discern where the hell to find him. It's _sad_. 

__

It's typical. 

__

Changbin sighed, “This _sucks,_ man. What the hell is a squirrel bush?” 

__

Minho slapped a hand to his cheek, reverberating through his skull. “I've been asking myself the same thing since this morning.” 

__

And it's true—through his midday lectures, through lunch, even during his modern _dance_ class, Minho had been mentally unpacking those two _terribly_ simple words. Unpicking possible connotations. Thinking and thinking and _thinking._ He ended up with a brain in even tighter knots than when he started. 

__

_Squirrel bush,_ he thought again, longingly. _A squirrel...that's also a bush._

__

It sounds noticeable enough, Minho thinks. He's _sure_ he would've known if he passed by some synonymously forest critter-shaped foliage on campus. He's _positive._

__

And he _knows_ he hasn't. 

__

That’s going on the basis that Jisung’s message is _literal._ What if “squirrel bush” is... _code_ for something? Is it a riddle? Newfangled slang? What if it has a _deeper meaning_ Minho just isn’t getting? He even _googled_ the goddamn thing, and came up with frustrating goose eggs. Even the _internet_ has no clue!

__

Minho swallowed his despair like a burr down his throat, and wrote Jisung off. The one that got away kinda bullshit that only happens in romcoms. Minho was so _close_ he could _taste_ the blueberries on his goddamn _tongue._ And yet–

__

Suddenly, though, it was as if a switch was flipped. A light was turned on. Mental filaments became luminous. 

__

Changbin jolted in his chair, with such force he almost tipped _out_ the seat. “Wait!” He barked. “Wait,” he whispered this time, snapping his fingers as his features hardened, mellowed, hardened, mellowed. Internal cogs visibly turned behind his eyes. 

__

“I think…I think I know what he's talking about, Minho.” 

__

Minho blinked at his friend, unconvinced. There’s _no way._ “Really?”

__

_Really?_

__

Changbin nodded, brows furrowed. He rubbed at his sharp, angular chin with stout little fingers, as he said, “Once, when I was walking by the life sciences building, I passed a _really_ weird looking bush. Like topiary art that got all overgrown and abstract.” 

__

Minho leaned forward in his own seat. Scooted even closer to Changbin. He feels it again, in his bones. In the tunnels of his fucking _marrow._ Electric currents zapping his bloodstream. Carbonating his atoms, like blueberry soda. 

__

“It _kinda_ looked like a squirrel, Minho.” Changbin murmured, looking deep into his best friend's eyes. They shared a silent, knowing gaze.

__

It _was_ literal?

__

Reality crashed over Minho with their next tandem blink. Common sense promptly snuffed out the flame of hope kindling in his chest. “I-I don't know, Bin. What if that's not what he meant, and I end up accidentally missing him, and–”

__

Changbin popped from his seat, and clapped both hands on Minho's shoulders. He shook his friend, lightly, but with enough rocking motion to wake him _up_ . “You need to _try,_ Minho. This is your bigfoot, e-boy soulmate here. Or whatever.” 

__

Minho looked up into Changbins big, dark eyes. Like the night sky, dotted with countless stars. 

__

He feels like crying again. 

__

Minho nodded, and placed a hand of his own over one of Changbin’s; still gripping his shoulder with white-knuckle force. For someone who pretends to be so indifferent about anything and _everything,_ Changbin sure does care a _whole_ heck of a lot.

__

For the second time that day, his best friend has a point.

__

“Okay,” Said Minho. His voice quivered, but he _means_ it. His vocal chords may be wobbly, but his heart beat is steady. His palms may be clammy, but his mindfulness is firm. 

__

He has to _try._

__

“I'll go to the life sciences building tomorrow.” 

_**  
  
**_

🫐🍍

  
  


Minho feels like a fucking idiot.

__

_Why_ did he listen to Changbin, again? 

__

Minho is at the life sciences building at 6:57 p.m. on Friday. He's standing on the sidewalk, the lecture hall looming eerily behind him and largely swallowed in late-night shadow.

__

Operative word? _He's_ there. As in he and he _alone._ As in, Jisung is nowhere to be _seen._

__

Minho _thought_ he found the supposedly rodent-shaped bush Changbin mentioned, close to the plaza of the building. The topiary adjacent greenery is to the left of a nearby bench on the grass, and sure, the branchy protrusion on the back _kind of_ looks like a curved tail, if you squint. Sure, the knobby bunches of shrubbery _maybe_ look like a pair of ears, if you close one eye and turn your head upside down. 

__

It looks as much as a squirrel as Minho looks like a crocodile, but he's _banking_ on this bushel of leaves and twigs to be his _savior._

__

The sky is painted light wash lavender as Minho's watch ticks closer to seven. He’s nervously teetering from foot to foot, his head on a constant swivel down the sidewalk. No one. No blue hair to be seen.

__

_Fuck,_ Minho thought, mimicking his sentiment in the library yesterday morning. _What if I'm in the wrong place? What if there's_ another _squirrel shaped bush on campus and Jisung is_ there? 

__

He looked down at the flesh of his forearm; Jisung's message is still there, but the ink is slightly faded from the long, dangerously hot shower he took this morning. 

__

At least he wasn't dreaming up their meeting yesterday, that's for certain. 

__

Minho absentmindedly swung the bag in his hand, making the contents jostle. Before heading over to the life sciences complex, Minho stopped by the local organic grocer outside campus bounds. 

__

And he picked up just about _every_ blue food in stock. A carton of farm fresh blueberries, a pair of blue raspberry lollipops–over-fucking-priced because they use all-natural colorants and shit–and two blueberry scones. He would've bought blueberry soda, if they had any available.

__

A girl eyed him, somewhat suspiciously, as she walked past Minho loitering by the oddly shaped bush. He sent her his most disarming smile, which he _also_ knows is his most awkward. 

__

Minho sighed, and craned his neck down the road once again. Nothing, save for the far-off figure of the girl who just leered at him. 

__

Minho checked his watch; it's 7:04 p.m.

__

At 7:05 he completely lost all hope for the future of his outing with Jisung. Maybe it was too good to be true, after all.

__

Or maybe not. 

__

At 7:06 Minho heard footsteps running towards his direction. Thick soled Doc Martens pounding the pavement.

__

“Minho!” Called a voice. A familiar, hot, _very nice_ voice. 

__

Before Minho knew what hit him, Jisung skidded to a relatively ungraceful halt at his side, panting. “I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting,” he croaked, in between gulps of air. “I got lost.” 

__

Jisung's dusky blue hair matches perfectly with the dusky blue of the encroaching evening. Jisung looked up to Minho when he stopped leaning his hands on his knees, and his vision swam with his patented blue contacts, and artfully smoked blue liner. Blue on blue on blue. 

__

He's dressed in similarly edgy fashion as yesterday, save for his striped long-sleeve undershirt exchanged for a solid black one. He's wearing a grungy band tee overtop, the graphic of a group who haven't been popular since before Jisung was even _alive._

__

Minho felt his body sway, and caught himself before he could fall to his knees in relief.

__

He sent Jisung a playful glower, once his head stopped spinning. “ _Really?_ You got lost on the way to the location _you_ set up?” 

__

Minho's telltale banter is merely a facade; internally his brain is _melting_ into a grey matter puddle _,_ because _this was the place._

__

This _is_ the place! 

__

Jisung barked a breathy laugh, grinning from ear to ear. His smile lights up the night, even under the murky dollop of the nearby streetlight. 

__

He shrugged, “I've never actually _been_ here, dude. This thing is kinda famous around campus, and I thought it'd be a cool place to meet since everyone says I look like a squirrel.” He punctuated the statement by gesturing at the titular critter-shaped shrub. Arguably critter-shaped. _Barely_ critter-shaped. 

__

It's news to Minho that this overgrown plant is some sort of campus landmark, but he couldn't be bothered to ponder such a thing. 

__

_Looks like a squirrel, huh,_ Minho thought. He gave Jisung an appreciative once over, and came to a conclusion. Yeah. He can see that, in the roundness of his cheeks and the jemstone quality of his eyes. But Minho thinks, objectively, that Jisung is much, _much_ cuter. 

__

Jisung looked at Minho through lidded, sapphire eyes. He mused, “It's weird, I know. But you're weird, so I thought you'd like it.” 

__

Minho huffed, but it was very clearly in good nature. “I'm flattered. I've always wanted to be called ‘weird’ by the cutest boy on campus.” 

__

And Minho _does_ like it, for the record. But he thinks he likes Jisung more. 

__

Jisung bit down on his bottom lip, eyes darting to the cracked pavement beneath his combat boots. “Oh? Who else called you weird, Minho?” 

__

“Very funny.” Minho sang, quirking a brow at Jisung. Little shit. He _better_ know how cute he is, or Minho will pitch a _fit_.

__

He'll take the pretty pink blush on Jisung's cheeks, complementing his hair and eyes perfectly, as a step in the right direction. 

__

Jisung suddenly took notice of the bag handles clutched in Minho's grip. He pointed at it, and some of the streetlight’s luminance caught on the silver rings on his finger. “What’s in there?” 

__

Minho perked up, hooking a thumb over at the bench a few feet away. “I'm glad you asked. Come sit,” 

__

They migrated over to the bench; soon sitting shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. This is only the second time they've met–like, _really_ met–but they're sitting with nary an inch separating the two.

__

Minho opened the mouth of the bag, putting the blue-themed foods on full display. He plucked the box of blueberries from within, and playfully shook the carton. Plump berries rattled against the cardboard. “I got us snacks!” 

__

“ _Wow,”_ Jisung said through an awed breath, as he peered at the items. “You _really_ think I must only survive on blue, huh.” 

__

He's smiling that same heart shaped grin again. The same one from yesterday. Minho's heart is fucking _speeding_ like a souped up race car. 

__

“I, um,” Minho coughed, stuffing the box of fruit back into the bag. “You said you were more of a blueberry person, so I assumed you _must_ like them. And the...color, too?” He gestured at Jisung's hair, and eyes, and eyeliner. 

__

Jisung laughed, his blue eyes darting off towards the sky for a second or two before finding Minho again. The lavender sunset appeared somewhat darker, somewhat eerie in his irises. “Actually, my favorite color is orange.” 

__

Minho blinked. “O-orange?” He said it like he's never heard the word before.

__

Jisung nodded. Like clockwork, feathery strands of deep blue bounced on his forehead. “Yup. I'm kinda in my blue period right now. Like Picasso, you know?” 

__

Minho feels dazed. “Blue period. Right.” He sucked in a somewhat shaky breath. He caught a glimpse of Jisung out of the corner of his eyes, and the smirk on his lips is making Minho feel lightheaded. “Picasso. Right.” 

__

Jisung's coy grin softened up around the edges. “Thanks for thinking of me, Minho.” He mused, before darting over to peck Minho's cheek. 

__

_Fuck._ And Minho thought _he_ was the one hurdling past milestones with his _“future boyfriend”_ comment yesterday. Jisung has him fucking _beat._

__

The kiss was chaste as hell and barely lasted half a second, but it was enough to make Minho's pulse shoot through the goddamn _roof._ Jisung's mouth felt pleasantly damp against his cheek, leaving a token stain of clear gloss on his skin. 

__

Minho made no move to wipe it off. 

__

He honestly had his doubts on whether Jisung even liked him _back,_ after their first meeting in the library. Sure, he _seemed_ super into Minho's super weird flirting, but what if he was just misreading those cues while floating through his Jisung-high? Those thoughts terrified him, but now it's _official._

__

Jisung likes him back. He just sealed the deal with a kiss. 

__

“But you _do_ know we can't eat these without washing them, right?” Jisung continued, completely nonchalant, as if he didn't just make Minho astral fucking project to another universe. He tapped at the tub of blueberries, when Minho didn't respond.

__

Minho _still_ didn't answer, until he forcefully re-swallowed his coherency like a spoonful of cloying cough syrup. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, at the lecture hall behind them. 

__

“We could wash them in one of the bathrooms in the life sciences complex.” He spoke softly, dazedly, breathlessly. Like he just climbed a thousand-step flight, his chest is heaving deeply in and deeply out, repeat. All from a peck on the _cheek._

__

He's whipped, alright. As if that wasn't already _readily_ established. 

__

Jisung waved away the offering, bouncing more incandescent light from the streetlamp off the multitude of rings on his fingers. “I'd rather take my chances with one of these.” Jisung plucked a blue raspberry sucker from the bag, unwrapped the foil, and stuffed it in his cheek.

__

Minho gulped at the sight, what with how the candy puffs out his _already_ adorably rounded cheeks. Minho mentally signed his will again, this time in triplicate. 

__

He's a fucking _goner._

__

“Will you be my e-boy boyfriend who spits in my mouth?” Minho whimpered, hardly audible under his shaking breath. His eyes are glassy and owlish as he stares at Jisung, lips parted as if to physically drink up the view. 

__

Jisung tilted his head, shifting his mussed blue mop. “What?” 

__

“Nothing!” Thank fuck, Minho's mindfulness kicked in _just_ in the knick of time. 

__

Jisung smiled, slightly uneven thanks to the lollipop stick jutting from his lips. His gaze is vaguely contemplative. Thoughtful. As if something huge just dawned on him. He plucked the candy out his mouth, and announced with unwavering confidence, “You're cute, Lee Minho. I think we might be soulmates.” 

__

A zap of electricity ran down Minho’s spinal column. He couldn't have said it any better himself. 

__

The blue candy glistened in the night, as if the planet neptune has been shrunk, skewered, and lacquered. A sheen of melting blue sugar is dripping down the white paper stick, lazily creeping towards the tips of Jisung’s fingers. 

__

Minho looked right into Jisung's blue eyes. Blue like the sea, and the sky. Minho is starting to think his whole world is blue.

__

Maybe he's in a blue period of his own, now that he thinks about it.

__

“You're cute too, Han Jisung. I think you might be right.” 

__

Minho took it upon himself to pose the very question that's been keeping him up at night, since the moment he saw Jisung countless months prior. His hair was straw blonde then and now it’s blue, but he's still just as lovely. Minho doesn’t think he’ll ever look at the color the same way. “Can we go on a date?” 

__

Jisung narrowed his eyes and lapped at the lollipop. His tongue is stained sinful, technicolor blue, and Minho licked his own lips on instinct. He’s suddenly craving a blue raspberry lollipop of his own. Or maybe...something _else._

__

“I thought this _was_ a date, Minho.” 

__

That didn't even phase him. Of _course_ this was their first date. Finally back to earth, finally back to his typical self, Minho retorted, “Oh, yeah. _Nothing_ says romance like getting lost on campus trying to find a bush that _vaguely_ looks like a fucking _squirrel.”_

__

Jisung has that faux-pensive look on his face again, like in the library yesterday. He playfully pursed his lips, dyed a bit blue around the corners but still extremely beautiful and extremely kissable. “Well, it could _never_ be as romantic as talking about phone filters, but I'm trying to keep up with the modern-day casanova you are, Minho.”

__

At that, Minho became physically aware of his phone nestled in his pocket. He just got another idea.

__

“That reminds me,” Announced Minho, as he slipped the device free from his pants. He clicked it open, and easily swiped to his favorite photo app. 

__

“Wanna take a pic?” 

__

Jisung let loose some airy, wonderfully melodic laughter at the suggestion. “Sure,” he re-wrapped the lollipop to the best of his abilities, and tucked the sucker into the back pocket of his jeans. “Pick us a good filter.” 

__

Minho scoffed, as he scrolled through the options. He passed by the dolphin and pineapple numbers he mentioned to Jisung yesterday without a second thought. “This is _me_ we're talking about here, Jisung. You're in good hands.”

__

Jisung scooted a little closer, a little flusher to Minho. Minho can feel his heat through his clothes, like a sentient lightning bolt at his side. He’s sweating through his goosebumps. “I know.” Jisung said, quietly.

__

Minho has a feeling he wasn't talking about phone filters. 

__

“How about this?” Minho asked, as he held up his phone. He’s already smiling, despite the camera quality being at its beginning blurriness. He’s smiling because of the boy pressed into his side. He’s smiling because of the blue. 

__

Once both their faces are focused within the screen, their heads are smothered with augmented orange spheres. Only their faces poke through the center hole of the filter, but the rest of the image is swallowed with graphic orange. 

__

“What is it?” Asked Jisung, squinting at the filter choice on screen. The bright orange clashes a bit with his rich, navy blue hair, but he still looks positively _gorgeous._

__

“We're oranges!” Minho chirped, throwing up a peace sign as he got the fuzz of the newly opened camera to focus. “Since now I know it’s your favorite color.” 

__

Jisung shook his head, visibly endeared, and put up a V sign of his own. 

__

They grinned, eyes visibly glimmering even through the combined murk of Minho's smudged camera and the dim glow of the adjacent streetlight. Minho can say with surety that Jisung is _the_ cutest orange-boy the world ever did see. 

__

“Pretty nice, right?” Minho cooed, with a waggle of his brows. 

__

Jisung gave an eager nod, playing into Minho once again. He teased, “Hell yeah, I see why you like these so much. What a rush!” 

__

Minho reined in his laughter, purely in the name of taking a semi-decent picture. 

__

Minho clicked the shutter button.

__

He's in love.

__

Once the picture is successfully saved, once they _finally_ exchanged numbers–so Minho can send him the photo _and_ plan their next date–did Jisung speak again. Minho set Jisung’s contact info with a blue heart emoji next to his name. 

__

Jisung nestled his head nice and snug into the dip of Minho's shoulder, blue locks brushing up against his neck. “Hey, Minho?” 

__

He hummed, craned down to face the blue-haired boy. Jisung’s sapphire eyes reflect the first stars, as they twinkle awake in the late evening sky. 

__

“I think you were right.” 

__

Minho cocked his head, “About what?” 

__

Minho doesn’t know where Jisung is going with this. He could be right about any number of things, but for some reason his heart began to pound a couple beats harder, a few beats faster in anticipation. 

__

Jisung pecked Minho's jaw, sending an electric trill down his spine. His skin is stained with a light tack of sugary blue in the wake of Jisung's lips.

__

Minho's entire world is blue, and he never wants to leave. He wants to plunge himself into the hewn sapphire pool that _is_ Jisung, and never come out. 

__

Which shouldn't be terribly difficult, on second thought. 

__

Jisung smiled up at him, blue eyes shining in the fresh moonlight. Minho isn't just _whipped,_ anymore. 

__

He’s completely, utterly in love. 

__

“I think you are my future boyfriend, Lee Minho.”

**Author's Note:**

> i was Very disappointed to find there is no blueberry emoji, so i had to improvise™ for the time breaks….welp. (EDIT there is now a blueberry emoji !!!! maybe life isn't so bad after all uwu) 
> 
> Anyways, I hope u all enjoyed!! Kudos n stuff if u liked this really make my day <3 see u in the next one!


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